“Hello?” a tired voice questioned.
“Mr. Jones? Hey, it’s Emma. Is Corbin there?”
“No. I just got home, though. He must have left to pick you up? Didn’t you two have plans for tonight?”
Panic seized my chest and clutched at my sanity.
“Yeah, he was supposed to pick me up at five. He never showed up,” I stated simply, cutting to the point.
Mr. Jones paused for what seemed like an eternity. “Maybe he broke down. I’ll get in my car and go look for him. You stay put in case he shows up.” For the first time in years, I heard genuine concern in Mr. Jones’ voice. After all that he lost, I knew he was fearful of yet another family member disappearing.
The phone clicked to signal the end of the phone call. I walked out onto the porch, scanning the horizon for the sight of that familiar truck. No luck. I paced back and forth, back and forth, praying silently for Corbin’s safe arrival. Suddenly the red dress and the fancy dinner seemed completely irrelevant. All I wanted was to be standing in Corbin’s arms and for him to be in one piece, even if that meant eating peanut butter sandwiches and watching television together.
Suddenly, the phone stabbed the silence with its echoing ring. I bolted straight for the phone, reaching it without incident, despite my dangerously high heels.
“Hello?” I screamed into the phone.
“Emma, Emma it’s me. Listen, I only have a minute.” Corbin’s voice was shaking. However, he was talking so that had to be a good sign.
“Corbin! Where are you? I’ve been worried sick. Do you know what time it is?” Glancing at the clock, I realized that it was almost seven.
“Emma, I know, I’m sorry, but you need to listen. I need you to call my dad. I need him to come to the police station.”
“Why? What happened?” I shrieked. I’m not sure what I expected Corbin to say. Maybe I was thinking that he’d been in a fender-bender and had to go to the station to report it. Maybe he had been a victim of a hit-and-run and was reporting it. Whatever the case, I wasn’t expecting anything as horrible as the true reason for his visit.
“I don’t have time to explain. Just call my dad and tell him to get down here immediately. I’ll have him call you later to talk to you about everything. I love you, Emma,” I could hear his voice cracking with emotion.
“Corbin, wait, what’s going on? Just tell me!” I spewed, begging for answers.
“Time’s up!” I heard a voice bellow in the background. The phone clicked, leaving me with silence and questions.
Dazed by confusion, emotion, and fear, I force my hand to hang up the phone, pick it up, and dial the number again. His dad didn’t answer; he was probably still searching for Corbin, checking with neighbors to see if they knew anything. I left an urgent message to call me immediately. Mr. Jones obeyed the message about ten minutes later.
“Emma, I couldn’t find him. Do you know something?” Mr. Jones rambled.
“Not much. I know he’s okay, at least physically. He called me and told me to get hold of you. He needs you to go to the police station. He didn’t have time to explain. He just said it was urgent.”
“The police station? God, what for?”
“I have no idea. I just know that he specifically asked for you to hurry down there,” I said.
“All right, I’ll head over right now,” Mr. Jones muttered.
“Can I come, too?” I begged.
“You better stay home for now. I’ll call you later and let you know what’s going on, okay?” Mr. Jones stated coolly, denying my plea.
“Call me the second you know anything, please,” I beseeched desperately.
“Will do,” Mr. Jones promised and then clicked the phone.
After I hung up, I returned to the couch. I must have sat there in a daze for quite some time, because before I knew it, my mom and dad returned. Everything seemed like a whirlwind of sights and sounds, but nothing was clear to me. My mom asked me what was wrong, but I just shook my head and stared ahead in a comatose state. I remember my mom helping me out of the dress and into pajamas as I stared blankly ahead, tears gliding down my face. I remember her saying she was going to storm right over there and find out what was going on. I remember feeling worried and not knowing why. I remember finally falling asleep after making Mom promise to wake me up when the phone rang.
When she woke me up, the first thing I noticed was that the sun was beaming into my windows, casting an ethereal light over everything. The red dress draped over my chair reflected the light with such intensity that I shielded my eyes.
“Honey, Mr. Jones just called,” Mom noted seriously, which was uncharacteristic of her. I knew something was terribly wrong.
“What happened? What time is it?” I sat up quickly, rubbing the grogginess out of my eyes with the backs of my hands.
“You need to get dressed. Corbin wants to see you.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s at the county jail. Visiting hours are coming up, and you won’t have much time.” Tears welled up in my mother’s face. Usually the one to see the class as half full, it seemed like only gloom and doom were emanating from her.
“Jail? What?” I shrieked in disbelief. My head was spinning as was the room.
“He’s a prime suspect. First degree murder,” she said matter-of-factly. My mother wasn’t one to hide the truth or try to shield me. She told it like it was. As my jaw fell and the tears started streaming, she turned away to pick an outfit for me. I could tell that the clutching pain in my chest, my heart, and my head were being experienced by her as well. This couldn’t be happening. I just froze, trying to stutter my confusion, but only silence befell my lips.
I snapped out of my daze and got out of bed, grabbed the red dress, and threw it into the trash can. I stomped around the room, grabbed the outfit my mother handed me, threw it on, and headed for the car. My mom dashed behind me, keys in her hand.
“I’ll drive you,” she offered. For once, I was thankful for her hovering nature. I didn’t think I could manage to see straight, let alone drive myself to the prison.
And so began the longest few months of my life, months that would plague and destroy and disintegrate any shred of hope for the future that I possessed. Those months murdered my faith, my love, and the dove that grazed my hip. They wrung our family out and left it dry and cracking.
They severed the rope that held me and Corbin together, not leaving even one thread for us to weave back together.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Unfinished Promises
Corbin
The night that had changed my life, destroyed it, the night that had chewed me up and spit me out like a piece of leathery meat, began as one of the happiest nights of my life. It was a night of hope and of dreams, of feathery clouds gently guiding me toward a solid future of satisfaction. It was a night that I impatiently waited for. When it finally arrived, I was filled with joy for what would soon unfold. Now, looking back, I feel sorry for that guy getting ready in this room. I look at this list with pity for what would never be. I wonder how things could have been different. I wonder what Emma felt that night, what she must have experienced. I wonder, above all, why.
* * * *
Memories
With the scent of summer in the air, the seniors seemed to skip gleefully through the hallways on that last day of classes. The next day, they would be walking across the stage, handed that final degree declaring them competent for the real world, and be moving on with their lives. That night, many of my fellow classmates would be partying their way into adulthood.
But not us.
When I had put that promise ring on her finger, I had told her that someday I would replace it with the real thing. At the time, the promise ring seemed like a big enough step. We had committed ourselves to each other fully. Even I hadn’t predicted how soon that commitment would wane away. With our senior year closing and the real world pounding on our doors, I felt the need to upgrade my commitment to her. It was time.
Yes, many would call it foolish. The world would mock us, two teenagers barely out of school, ready to be loyal to each other. How could we possibly know what we wanted, the world would ask. But I was ready to answer because in Emma, I saw my entire future laid out. With Emma, things felt right. Our love had blossomed and matured beyond question. With her, I saw a steadfast connection that would not be broken. I saw us walking into the impending future, heads held high, hands clenched together, ready to face the world, no matter what it would throw at us. I saw weddings, houses, children, pets, and love. I saw us waking up to each other every morning and falling asleep in each other’s arms every night. I knew she saw it, too. So why wait?
When I had made my decision back at the beginning of May, I was sure of it. Yet I wasn’t so sure of one thing—how her parents would react. I thought about taking the easy road and letting Emma deal with telling them after the fact, but I knew that wasn’t fair. So I had made a decision to confront the Groves about it before I popped the question.
I was shocked at their lack of surprise when I cornered them one afternoon while Emma was playing her clarinet scales at practice. I was, in fact, greeted with two different but similarly positive responses from Mr. and Mrs. Groves.
Response One: “Just so you know how you’re going to support her. This is a big step, kid. Just be sure that you’re sure. I don’t want her to get hurt. If she gets hurt, you get hurt.” Followed with a handshake.
Response Two: “Oh my God, I knew this was coming! I’m so excited! We’re going to have the best wedding this town has ever seen! I can’t wait to tell everyone what a handsome son-in-law I’m getting! Where’s the ring?”
I’ll let you be the judge of who responded in what way.
So with parental approval, I was ready to move forward. I spent weeks planning, doubting my plans, enhancing my plans, and worrying. I had wanted everything to be immaculate and undoubtedly perfect for this big moment. I saved as much money as I could, even resorting to selling some of my favorite things and mowing lawns for extra cash. I took on some extra hours at the local pizza shop (the amusement park wasn’t open yet). I bought the biggest, nicest ring that I could afford, which despite my best efforts and heartfelt intentions, was barely a diamond chip. It only overshadowed the promise ring by a few diamond chips. But I knew that Emma wouldn’t care. I knew she would love it, even if it had come from a quarter machine, which it didn’t, but it wasn’t much of an upgrade. It was what the ring meant that mattered, and I knew Emma well enough to know she would feel the same way.
Finally, after many sleepless nights and cumbersome conversations with Emma where she sensed I was a bit “off,” the day had arrived. I had pre-arranged for Emma’s mom to come by my house and get the dress after I picked Emma up for school. She was more than pleased to be my “accomplice” as she liked to call herself. “It sounds so exciting!” she added.
While that last day of school flew by for the excited and tearful seniors, my day ticked by with infuriating sluggishness. Finally, the end of the day mercifully sounded with the school’s bell, and I met Emma at her locker as usual.
“Can you believe it? Last day! It’s sort of sad, isn’t it?” Emma beckoned at her locker, a bit despondent about the prospect of it all being over.
“No, it’s not sad. It’s awesome. Our lives are just beginning,” I said, then silently cursed myself for being so obvious. Emma didn’t notice, though, thankfully.
“I guess you’re right. It just seems depressing, like a big part of our lives, a good part, is over.”
We gathered our things and headed toward my truck. As we walked, her hand cradled in mine, she turned to me.
“So what do you want to do tonight?” she asked. “Katie’s having a pre-graduation party if you want to go. It might be fun.”
“No, I can’t.”
Emma paused, squinting at me inquisitively. “Why not?”
“I have to work.”
“Tonight? Can’t you take one day off? We’re graduating tomorrow.”
“I know, I’m sorry, it sucks. But they wanted me to come in tonight. Plus, you know that I could use the money with the fall semester coming up.”
“I know. It’s okay. We’ll hang out tomorrow.” She glumly walked with me to my truck, trying to mask her disappointment by chattering away about the day’s occurrences.
When we got to her house, I felt my stomach drop a little bit. The next time I saw her, there would be no covering what was going on. It would be happening. A vital shift in our relationship was about to take place. Although I was a bit fretful and hoping that things would go smoothly, mostly I was just excited.
Emma leaned over to kiss me goodbye.
“See you tomorrow, I love you!” she said cheerfully.
“I love you, too.” I replied.
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
And with that, Emma headed into her house. And my plan began.
* * * *
As soon as Emma was safely inside the door, my truck leaped toward the road. I had plenty of time, but my heart was nervously jumping as adrenaline plunged my actions into super drive. I accelerated home, mentally preparing a list of all of the things I needed to accomplish in the next two hours. I started with a quick snack because I felt like I was going to pass out.
The next hour and a half zoomed by me as circles of showers, cologne, tuxes, cameras, rings, flowers, music, and worries nauseated my mind. When I finally felt like I looked the part of a man ready to promise his heart away, I headed toward my truck. Let the future begin, I thought to myself. I jumped into the driver’s seat and didn’t look back.
Little did I know that it would be an entire day until I saw Emma again, and she would hardly be jumping into my arms saying, “Yes.” I was on the precipice of disaster, on the brink of life- altering change, but not the sort of change I had anticipated. The universe was awaiting the moment to throw me a curveball that I couldn’t possibly be prepared to swing at.
* * * *
“Corbin, pizza’s here!” a voice yells up the steps. I am brought back to the present, seated on the bed where I had sprayed on that last bout of cologne before heading for what was to be a special night. My mind is temporarily offered reprieve from the hauntings of the past. I trade in my memories for a few slices of pepperoni and a beer with my dad, leaving those torturous memories undisturbed amidst those piles of dust.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Disarray
Corbin
My dad and I talk about whatever trivial subject we can muster up. We talk about the weather, job prospects for me, and some minor house repairs that I can help him with. Conversation is easy yet superficial. We try to act like this is a normal dinner, but it’s not. How do you pretend you haven’t just left a six by eight foot barred room for a life of freedom?
I wash my plate, finish my beer, and follow my dad into the living room. I sink down on the ancient recliner as my dad flips on the evening news. I’m already molding into his daily routine, like it or not. As he clicks the remote, my dad mutters “Stupid media” as he scrambles to flip through the stations quickly. All we can see on every channel is me.
“Innocent man stripped of his life,” says one reporter, while a reporter on another channel defines my situation as a “tragic shame.” “Fingernail scrapings overturn ruling” another proclaims. With my release, I have become a hero. But this angers me instead of filling me with peace. These reporters are so interested in my story, yet where were they when that young boy needed an outlet to share the truth? Where were these investigators and delvers when the truth needed to be uncovered? They were on the other side of the fence, leading the angry mob to my slaughter. Now they want to play fair redeemers of my character? I scoff at their money-hungry souls. They would take any side of the story just so it led to profit. They didn’t give a shit about whose life was being defiled in the process.
I decide to wander out to the deck, finding comfort in the patio chair by
the railing. My dad stays put in the living room, sensing that I need a few minutes to digest everything that is happening. In his old age, he has become sensitive to the needs and emotions of others, a trait that has certainly suited him well.
Glancing at the sky, I can’t help but think about the night that started it all. In truth, I have replayed that night in my mind hundreds if not thousands of times. The “what ifs” pop up every few seconds as I wonder why things unfolded as they did. Was it just sheer bad luck that those events happened the way they did, or was it something more? Was fate haunting me, lurking in the distance, selecting its prey from hundreds of the weak? Why did it set its fangs into me?
When I drove away that night with excitement and anxiety churning in my stomach, I didn’t bother to look back. Yet within only a few hours, I was failing to look forward either.
* * * *
Memories
“Shit!” I yelled, fist jarring against the steering wheel. The flashing gas light taunted my stupidity. I had thought of everything for tonight—except that we would need gas in my truck.
Calm down, I told myself. I still had plenty of time until I had to pick up Emma, and she was only a few minutes away. It was only 4:55. I would just have to swing by the gas station and dump some gas into the truck. No problem.
My rusty, faithful truck squeaked its way into the gas pump lane. I jumped out, jammed the nozzle into the tank, and began pumping. At exactly ten dollars and one cent, I stopped the pump and jogged inside to pay the cashier. I would only lose a few minutes for this entire escapade. As the familiar chime on the door announced my appearance, I beelined for the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I saw a troubling sight—Randy. Jerking and swaying, he headed up the candy bar aisle. The clerk eyed him uneasily, as she was the only worker in the store. It was just the three of us.
The incident at prom had occurred a long time ago, so long ago that I would have completely pushed it out of my mind. Except Randy couldn’t. Angered by the situation and aggravated by his home circumstances, Randy had let the fight swamp his entire being. When he passed me in the hallway, he often threw insults and an attempted punch my way. Emma became a focal point for his pervasive attitude, which only intensified my hatred for the asshole. Our relationship was violently unstable, to say the least. We had a few close calls at school and even a day at the principal’s office for a round in the cafeteria. I wasn’t afraid of him. But on today of all days, the last thing I wanted was a confrontation. I headed toward the clerk, money in hand, hoping to get out of the store without Randy even detecting me. He seemed less than aware of the environment around him. Just my luck, though, he spotted me like a zombie spots its next meal. With the same clumsy yet focused energy of the undead, he lunged straight toward me.
Voice of Innocence: A Coming-Of-Age Sweet Romance Page 17